


Beginning of Brotherhood

by ImaMePanda



Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: 'Aunt Evie', 'Uncle' Orin, Adopted Sibling Relationship, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Big Brothers, Discipline of Young Adults, Episode: s01e02 One Day Out West, Families of Choice, Family Drama, Family Feels, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Little Brothers, Mary is awesome, Mary is like Ezra's big sister, Maude sucks, Non-Sexual Spanking, Origin Story, Probably not how tagging works..., Sibling Bonding, Spanking, Team as Family, Why do so many people hate her and write her as super annoying, Worse than usual, Young Peacekeepers AU, Younger Ezra, Younger JD, Younger Nathan, Younger Vin, fight me, makeshift family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-14
Updated: 2017-09-27
Packaged: 2018-12-29 16:19:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12088722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImaMePanda/pseuds/ImaMePanda
Summary: When Orin Travis sees the red jacketed gambler standing at the bar, it is not as Ezra Simpson the bail jumper, but as the teenage ward who had disappeared on him the year before. At first he is determined to bring him home, back to Evie. Slowly, he begins to realize the boy is right where he belongs.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Some dialogue has been taken directly from the show, it doesn't belong to me any more than the boys do.

Ezra tried to keep the nervousness off his face as he skirted around behind the crowd that was growing on the street after the murderer-for shooting an unarmed man in cold blood, twice no less, could be nothing else-had been apprehended. Apprehended by a combination of the group he'd rode with to defend the Seminole village and Orin Travis. A man Ezra had had no intention of running into any time soon.

No matter how fond the Judge had claimed to be of him, Ezra was sure disappearing the way he had, without a word and two months left of his probation, would require him to revoke it. Even just the week that he had spent in the cells before Judge Travis had released him and more than graciously given him houseroom had assured him he wanted no part of jail. Looking quickly around, he scaled the saloon steps, nodding to JD as he joined him on his walk to the bar. He liked the younger man-and Ezra had no doubt that JD was younger than him, whatever he'd said. Still, he'd let him keep his secrets, best way to guard his own. Compared to the fresh-faced, bold, and overeager lad Ezra found himself remarkably mature.

Settling up against the bar, Ezra spoke quietly to the bartender and received his drink, relaxing from the first sip and exchanging grins with JD. Turning, he leaned his back against the bar and surveyed the tables, wondering if he'd be able to get anyone interested in a game of chance after he'd been so publicly caught cheating. Ezra had known it was foolish, that he'd overplayed his hand, acted too intoxicated for as sober as he'd suddenly become, the second he'd made his last shot, but he'd needed that money, had been down to ten dollars and his watch, and had realized too late that he had not had as much control over that need as he thought. No matter, someone would want to play poker eventually and Ezra would be happy to oblige the gentleman or gentlemen, or perhaps, though it seemed unlikely in this dusty burg, gentle lady. He'd have to expedite his trip out of town now that both Un-the Judge and Mrs. Travis were here, it would not be prudent to do otherwise, and so he needed to increase his meager funds without delay. What a short-thinking fool he'd been, using his own name.

Not that it hadn't been good to see Judge Travis, in particular good to see him walk away whole from his initial confrontation with the despicable coward who'd laid Mr. Potter permanently low. When Mary had rushed over to him-Ezra hadn't even known she was back in the town, probably never would have gotten off the stage here if he had, no matter how low his funds-his heart had seemed to skip a few beats, not sure what to do, but unable to stand the idea of guns pointing at her even for a moment. When the others had begun to silently and quickly slip around the villains, Ezra had taken his place among them, still surprised that he had been allowed back into their fold, perhaps not eagerly, but he had not been rejected either. He moved the glass in his hand slightly, sloshing the whiskey in it back and forth as he looked around the saloon, mind moving to the last moments on the top of the ridge, expecting Mr. Larabee to lay him out, or at least tell him he was no longer welcome among them. He could not have blamed the man for either or both. Instead, the gunslinger had approached him with a look on his face that had warned Ezra not to look away as much as it had compelled the desire in him to do so, his eyes seeming to see right through him, and fiercely, sincerely, told him, “Don't ever run out on me again.”

Ezra was still trying to figure out whether the words had been the offer of another chance or a threat. The more he got to know Mr. Larabee, the likelier he thought it was that they had been both. Slipping out without the judge seeing him was an unfortunate necessity, but he would have to beg his leave off that man. He did not quite dare to do otherwise, though Ezra was sure Larabee wouldn't think twice about granting his permission. Knowing his time was running out, that he should duck out of sight if he didn't want to be discovered, Ezra turned back to the bar, intending to inquire of the bartender if they had any rooms for rent when footsteps, confident and solid, but not as quick as they had once been, sounded just inside the mostly empty building, the batwing door swinging shut behind. A strong, carrying, voice sounded around the floor, “I got twenty dollars for any man who wants to be sheriff. A week's worth.” Ezra ducked down over his drink, willing himself to become intangible, invisible, or, at least, to remain unnoticeable for the duration of the time Judge Travis remained in the saloon.

Uncle Orin.

“Alright, thirty dollars.” The only movement from around the room came from men shifting in their seats, ducking their heads, or turning their backs on the determined old man, and Ezra wasn't surprised at the scoff of disgust that left him, or the dry voice informing the saloon's customers, “I am deeply moved by this exhibition of courage.” As he heard JD, next to him, push himself away from the bar excitedly, he snuck enough of a glance to see him straighten his hat and hitch up his gunbelt as he approached the judge and grimaced internally. He could just see the younger boy listing his qualifications as having aided in the saving of an Indian village and going on to list his compatriots by name.

“Sir...I'd like the job.”

“Nah. You're too young.”

“I've never looked my age.” JD's voice was almost amusing as he tried his best to sound capable, but really just sounded over-earnest. Still, Ezra was impressed with the misdirection from someone who likely had little experience with it-Mr. Dunne had never actually said he was a teenager, but he hadn't said he was older either, not in so many words.

“This job could kill you.”

“I know.” There was something in his voice that said he did, that he had learned at least a little of that lesson in the village, but Ezra, who had been doing his utmost to stick to the rules of his trade, and not involve himself in matters that could not bring some boon to him, had a hard time not protesting. JD was too young, very much so, and the idea of him trying to handle James and his ilk, or the gangs of bank robbers and other scum that were said to plague this small backwater, without aid made Ezra feel slightly ill.

“There's no glory in it.”

“I'm not looking for any.” Then why, Ezra thought, a mouthful of whiskey warming his stomach as he swallowed, do you desire the position?

“Am I to understand this is the only brave man among you?” Still, no one moved. “Alright, you're hired.”

Peering over his shoulder for just a moment he got a glimpse of the two shaking hands and then went back to trying to blend in like a chameleon, willing no one to draw attention his way. Which was why, he was sure, JD all but ran up to him, slapping him on the back and saying excitedly, “Hey Ezra, guess what? I'm going to be the sheriff!”

Wishing he could sink beneath the floorboards, Ezra muttered out a, “Congratulations.” He was as caught as the time when he was ten and a policeman out of uniform had stepped up to where young Ezra had been offering games of 'find the queen', played, lost, and, with a surprising amount of cheer, told the boy he was coming with him.

“Ezra...?” He heard the surprise in the voice, and braced himself, for what he wasn't exactly sure, but did not move or otherwise acknowledge his un-Judge Travis, even as he heard the man take several steps forward, stopping at his side, his eyes seeming to bore their way all the way into his gray matter as he stared at him for what felt like an endless eternity, before finally, voice low, he said “Ezra Patrick, you look at me right now.”

Knowing he had no choice, that no good could come of him doing otherwise, Ezra tore his gaze from the truly fascinating shot of whiskey left in his glass and did his best to smile at Orin like he hadn't a care in the world, “Hello, Judge Travis, what brings you to this fair municipality?”


	2. Chapter 2

“Ezra...?”, Orin frowned at the russet colored head hunched over and facing away from him at the bar, and a tension he'd been carrying in his shoulders for a year now eased away as first recognition hit him, then relief. Ezra. Solid, in one piece, and seemingly hale and hearty, bearing no signs of the terrible things Orin had worried would befall him. Then anger-in the year since he'd left them, sneaking out in the middle of the night with only a note, the boy couldn't have sent a single letter, a telegram? Evie had been beside herself for months, still made him promise to look for him whenever he traveled out of town. Hell, they'd both been beside themselves. And what did he think he was doing, joining up with a band of hired guns? He might not have recognized him in all the commotion on the street, but there had been a man with a red jacket like the one Ezra had on, and Orin had no doubt it had been him. He marched up to the counter and stood to the side of Ezra, just staring at the lad. The boy he'd just hired as Sheriff-and he may need to rethink that, because he looked no older than Ezra, who was only just eighteen-was looking confusedly between them, not sure what was going on. Finally, when Orin had been all but staring holes in him for what felt like an eternity, he ground out, “Ezra Patrick, you look at me right now.”

It took a few seconds, but Ezra put down his drink and turned to face the judge with a winning smile, “Hello Judge Travis, what brings you to this fair municipality?”

“Don't you hello Judge me, do you have any idea how worried Aunt Evie and I have been about you?” The smile dropped off Ezra's face, and Mr. Dunne, next to him, already appearing uneasy from the staring contest his new boss had been having with the side of Ezra's head, muttered 'okay, then', and slunk away, only stopping when he almost ran into another of the hired guns, the tall one with the mustache, a few feet away. “And what happened to Uncle Orin?”

His face that careful mask that the boy only put up when upset or unsure, Ezra murmured politely, “Ah wasn't sure-”

“Then you're a bigger fool than I thought. Some things don't change.” A flash of what might have been relief rose in Ezra's eyes before they quickly closed off again, and Orin bit back a noise of exasperation, an emotion that even after a year he still associated with the lad. “Do you have a room?”

“No, sah.”

“Good. That'll save you the trouble of collecting your things. I'm staying with Mary, and now so are you. Come along.” Orin stepped back and motioned for Ezra to stand up. He wanted to get the boy somewhere he could talk to him alone, both make sure he was actually alright and express exactly how he felt about his disappearing act and the worry he'd put them all through. Ezra slowly and reluctantly stood up, like he was heading off to the gallows instead of off to a good talking to and maybe a tanning. Orin hadn't decided on that yet, though he was certainly leaning in its favor. He still didn't know why Ezra had run away, his note hadn't been a damn bit of good in that department, but he was going to find out.

He'd have to send a wire to Evie right away, set her mind at rest.

Glancing over to where his two friends-how long Ezra had been with them was something else he was going to find out-were standing, the older one, Orin noted, looking amused, and the new sheriff looking like he was trying to figure out if he was supposed to be doing something, Ezra was clearly a trifle embarrassed as he said, “Uncle Orin, Ah don't think-”

Leaning in close and lowering his voice, he started talking right over the boy, who quickly shut his mouth, “Either you come with me right now, or I ask those two where the nearest woodshed can be found and drag you there by your ear, understood?” Blanching, Ezra nodded just once, a quick up and down of the head, but it was enough. “Good, come on then.” Orin motioned for Ezra to walk in front of him and this time he listened, acting purposely casual, like any teenager not wanting his friends to know he was in trouble. Only Ezra actually made a good job of it, good enough that it would have fooled most people, even with him dogging his steps the whole time, not about to let the wily young man out of his sight now that he'd found him. Orin nodded at Mr. Dunne as he passed by, saying quietly, “I will drop into the jail to discuss your duties with you in more detail tomorrow morning, Sheriff.”

They were halfway to the doors when he heard the tall man say loudly, “Wait a minute-JD, did the judge just call you  _sheriff_ _? _ ” 

“Yeah Buck, you're looking at Four Corners newest lawman.” The excited, slightly boastful, tone of the boy's voice did not inspire confidence in the judge.

“I'm looking at Four Corners newest dead man. Have you lost your dang mind, son?” Shaking his head and wondering whether he'd soon be looking for a new sheriff again if the young man was talked out of it, Orin put a hand on Ezra's shoulder, who had stopped at the doors, and guided him out and down the steps, heading across the street in the direction of the newspaper office. He couldn't exactly blame the man for not wanting his young friend to take the position, if there had been any other choices Orin wouldn't have given it to him. Hmm, perhaps...it wouldn't hurt to ask. The worst he could do was say no. Looking at Ezra again, he found a fond smile on his lips, as even here, in the middle of nowhere and with trail dust still on his heels, the boy was dressed like the dandy he was. He'd grown, at least an inch, maybe two. He did not, however, look as though he'd gained any weight to go with those inches, and while the muscle under his hand felt solid, there seemed to be little flesh to go with it.

“I expect you haven't eaten, since you boys just rode in a little while ago. Are you hungry?”

“Ah have had sufficient comestibles fah the time being, thank you kindly.” Ezra was stiff in front of him, if Orin had the right of it more scared than angry at being found, and he squeezed his shoulder firmly.

“That's not what I asked you.” He watched Ezra carefully as he waited for his response, not at all sure he'd get the truth.

“Sustenance would not go amiss at the moment.” He said it just a hint begrudgingly, and then went slightly pink as his stomach growled.

“Clearly not. C'mon, we'll let Mary fuss at you while I get us something to eat.” Giving Ezra no choice in the matter as he started to balk at the idea of seeing Mary-as she was likely going to alternate between smothering him and giving him a talking to he'd remember well into his old age for awhile, Orin couldn't quite blame him-he 'helped' the lad up the steps towards the newspaper office. “After we eat you and I will have a  _ talk _ .” The threat of that distracted him long enough for Orin to get him through the doors of the newspaper without any trouble, and he propelled Ezra along in front of him until they were behind Mary.

“I'm almost done.” Mary said it distractedly, taking notes on a piece of paper as she stood against the counter, her back to them. No doubt she was preparing a piece on the murder of Mr. Potter, and how the murderer had been brought down.

“Good, 'cause we're starving.” There was a pause and Orin could see the confusion start to form, her pencil set down deliberately as she turned to see who 'we' was. She stopped when she saw Ezra, her hands slowly moving to her mouth as she stared at him.

“Hello, Mary.”

“Ohh...”, It was more of a gasp than a real word and in two long strides she had crossed to him and pulled him into a hug, Ezra seeming not to know what to do with himself at first before tentatively returning the embrace, relaxing a little as she only squeezed him tighter in response. Finally, Mary stepped back, keeping a hand on the side of each of his shoulders as she looked at him, “Where in the world have you been? Do you have any idea how worried we've been about you?” Then she pulled him back in before he could answer, holding him so close Orin wasn't entirely sure he could take a full breath. Taking pity on him he spoke up, matter of factly.

“Ezra's hungry, I'm going to pick up some food. Where would you recommend?”

Pulling away from Ezra, Mary took a moment to collect herself, before saying, “Well, we've only got one restaurant left open.”

“I'll go there then.” He took the time to pat Ezra solidly on the back, letting his hand linger as he said, “I won't be long.” A glance back before he went out the door showed that the two were standing there, Ezra awkward as Mary fussed about him, though she was at least no longer half choking the boy. Looking around to see which restaurant it was that was still open, Orin set off down the street at a fair clip, the few people around on the street either nodding in thanks or glaring. The glarers, he supposed, thought he was putting them in danger by holding Lucas James, but he'd be damned before he let a cold blooded killer like that go. He took his duties seriously, and while there was no pleasure in dispensing justice, there was a satisfaction in seeing it carried out. No more innocent men would be cut down by that cocky little bastard. Stepping into the restaurant he didn't see James's man watching him, or signaling to his boss down the road.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Ezra stood in the small newspaper office, not sure what to do with himself or what to say, though he made sure he kept a smile on his face. A year was both a very short and long period of time. Mary didn't seem to know what to do either for a minute, but then it passed and, she was talking again, “Why don't you get washed up for dinner? There's a basin, soap, and a cloth in the spare room, first door at the top of the stairs. I'll bring you some water.”

Nodding, Ezra spoke casually, though he felt anything but, “Ah'd appreciate a chance to remove the worst of the trail dust, it wouldn't do to leave a coating at the table.” Mary's eyes were on him as he spoke, Ezra feeling as though she was looking for something, but not sure what it was, unease growing inside him. Apparently whatever it was, she found it, because she nodded with seeming satisfaction, and motioned him towards the staircase briskly.

“I'll be up in just a minute.” Ezra kept entirely together until he was in the spare room, where he let himself sag. The status quo had just abruptly shifted again, and while part of him felt a strange sense of relief-whatever happened, he would no longer be looking over one shoulder-he was not entirely sure what was going to happen next. The fact that he was not cooling his heels in the small jail, that Uncle Orin had brought him here to Mary, made it seem as though the consequences for his actions would likely be informal, or at least minimal. If that was so, he'd only put off the trip to the woodshed that had been mentioned, but that was far preferable to the alternative.

Or perhaps he simply knew that Ezra would be able to pick the locks on the jail cell and be long gone before morning if he wanted, and had brought him here to insure he couldn't evade him.

No. That was foolishness, his own petty insecurities getting the better of him. Orin Travis was many things, and both honorable and honest were high on the list. He would not have brought him here, would not have insisted he still call him uncle, if he intended to wash his hands of him.

He'd worried them. Mary had had tears in her eyes when she'd embraced him for a second time, and he could feel the lingering presence of his uncle's hand on his shoulder. Ezra had known, intellectually, that they likely would, at least for awhile after his departure. He hadn't expected that worry to be so intense, or for it to last after he'd been gone a year.

Mother had used to worry about him like that, when he was a small child, he remembered that, but it had been a very long time ago. Since Father or soon after, and he had only the vaguest memories of him.

He hoped Aunt Evie didn't think he'd left because he wanted to. That had not been the situation at all.

With a deep breath, he straightened and looked around the room, moving over to the stand where a porcelain wash basin with a rose pattern was set up, a folded cloth and small wooden soap dish sitting next to it. He could hear Mary coming up the stairs now and slid his jacket off, hanging it over the back of a convenient chair and rolling up his shirt sleeves. He'd banged the worst of the dust off his coat and pants when he'd left Chaucer at the livery, but it still seemed to be everywhere. Since his initial plan had involved retrieving his saddle bags before he retired Ezra had no fresh clothing to change into. There was a knock at the door, and Mary pushed it open, coming in and crossing to him, lingering after she'd set the jug down. “Were you hoping we would find you here?”

Ezra blinked, uncertain why she would think so, as he had been very much hoping for the antithesis of that, “Ah have to confess that Ah had not realized you had returned to the west and Four Corners, and had initially only planned to stay on in town for a few days, replenish mah coffahs and move on to a destination a little more cosmopolitan.” He saw Mary's lips purse and waited to be questioned on whether or not he was making a living by gambling, something she had never quite approved of, but she did not do as he expected.

“Even if you thought I was still with Evie and Orin, you know the newspaper office is still here, and you know that this is part of Orin's circuit. You got off the stage here and used your real name.” She gave him a knowing smile, and Ezra found himself irritated, not liking her assumption that she knew him so well as to understand his motivations so completely. Particularly as her recitation of facts had him abruptly wondering if there was some truth to it, if he'd set himself up to be discovered without being aware of it. It couldn't be, he had more self control than that, was more aware of his internal motivations than that...yet, a small voice that he wished he could disregard shouted that it was a valid theory, that at least there was truth in it. Picking up on his irritation Mary took her leave, firmly saying,

“I don't know exactly how you wound up in Four Corners, but I'm very glad you did.” She touched his shoulder briefly, then moved off, giving him privacy to complete his abulations as she walked to the doorway. “Come back downstairs when you're done.” Nodding, and thanking Mary again for bringing the water Ezra waited for her to shut the door behind her before he began to bathe.

Pouring about half the water from the jug into the basin and being careful not to soil his shirt, Ezra scrubbed and wiped away the dust and dirt that had accumulated on his person on their long ride to town, and stubbornly clung on even after they'd stopped to cool off at a small pond. Finished washing, he rinsed and squeezed the flannel out and hung it on a small wooden peg on the side of the stand. Looking in the mirror Ezra frowned slightly, and reached into his jacket to pull out a comb, dipping it into the clean water still left in the jug and fussing at his hair with it until it was presentable enough. A proper visit to the bathhouse was definitely in order shortly. Taking in a deep breath, Ezra pulled his jacket back on and straightened it out before heading towards the doorway, dinner and his doom.

Uncle Orin would no doubt enjoin a rationale for his long exodus, and Ezra would not, could not, divulge that information. The potential for disaster to come from him doing so was just too high. To refuse to give an answer would be foolhardy at best, which meant he would have to think of something convincing. Only, he'd never been able to fool Orin with a falsehood before, and knew that to get caught trying to do so would certainly rile him into a pique, and that was something Ezra did not relish being on the receiving end of.

His footsteps seemed strangely loud on the stairs, and it was somewhat of a relief to see Mary right there waiting for him as he got to the bottom. Although one had to speculate that the reasoning for that may have been to prevent him from slipping away. “Am Ah sufficiently dressed for the dining table?” He knew he was of, but he'd had to say something.

“Of course,” her lips twitched up into a smile, “Pretty as a peacock.” A chuckle left Ezra, it was something Billy had said to him once, in one of the child's rare good moods, and he'd meant it utterly sincerely. He suddenly realized he'd seen no trace of the boy and looked at Mary quizzically.

“Where is young Mistah Billy? Ah rathah thought Ah'd have gained a shadow by now.” Perhaps the boy was upset with him, angry at the way he'd left them, and the knot of guilt that Ezra had spent the last year pretending wasn't developing in his stomach region seemed to double in size.

Mary looked surprised, and then just a touch nervous as she spoke, “Billy is still staying with Evie and Orin. Were you in town for the shooting earlier?” Ezra nodded. “Then you know this town is no place for a little boy right now. Honestly, except for the Potter twins I don't think there are any children left in the whole town, only on outlying farms.” She'd left him. She'd moved on and left him behind just like Mother had moved on and left Ezra behind countless times. It took all of Ezra's self control to keep the confusion and anger from showing on his face as he followed Mary into the small kitchen that doubled as a dining room and took a seat in the chair she pointed him too, because that couldn't be correct, Mary was nothing like that. She couldn't be. There was no doubt that Mary was right, the town was not the sort of place one raised a small boy, but it was not as though anything had forced her to come back, either.

Nor, to be just, had Billy been left with relatives so distant they might have been strangers. If Ezra had a small child he could not care for for whatever reason, Orin and Evie would have been his top choice of caregivers, and not simply by virtue of being the only ones on the list besides Mary herself. She was saying something now, about Billy coming home as soon as the town was safe enough, and Ezra nodded along, smiling and saying something inane about food as he followed her to the small kitchen and dining area in the back of the newspaper.

Whatever her intentions, Ezra knew what young Billy must be feeling. Knew what it was like to lose your father and then have your mother leave you, and it wasn't right. It wasn't right at all. He shook his head to clear it as Orin appeared in the doorway holding a heavy tray, and one of the waitresses at the restaurant holding another behind him. Ezra got swiftly to his feet and took the tray from the young lady as his uncle sat his own down, then turned and gave the waitress a coin as a tip, “Thank you, I never would have been able to manage all that alone. We'll be sure to bring everything back in the morning.” The waitress smiled and nodded, disappearing afterwards and after a quick grace that Mary insisted on, the three dished up servings of roast chicken, mashed potatoes and string beans. Ezra was just taking his first bite of chicken, when, voice deceptively casual, Uncle Orin said, “So, Ezra, when exactly did you meet up with Larabee and the rest of those men?”

“What?” Mary sounded disbelieving, “the band of hired guns? Ezra...”

Mouth full of chicken, Ezra chewed and swallowed as fast as he politely could. "A week ago...", Uncle Orin's face told him that wasn't good enough, and after a brief internal battle, he spit out the rest, "we were hired to protect an Indian village from a fanatical group of confederate soldiers."

"Now that," Orin said, "sounds like a story I would like to hear."

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

Orin did his best to keep his face from showing too much disapproval as Ezra started telling his story, the boy doing his best to act as though he were merely recounting a cheerful misadventure in-between bites of food, but from the beginning, when he'd told them, “Ah first encountered Mistah Larabee and his compatriots when Ah had a bit of difficulty with some disagreeable fellows at the saloon-Ah would have been able to extract mahself easily enough, but their arrival and offah allowed me to do so with more grace.”, Orin had known he wasn't going to like this story. His first thought was that Ezra's 'difficulty' was either the boy getting accused unfairly of cheating, or less likely, but certainly possible, actually cheating at cards. But well he could see Larabee stopping the lad from getting himself shot without much prompting, that was no reason to offer him a spot with the rest of his men. Clearly the boy was smoothing over something fairly significant, but knowing that he probably didn't want to know every scrape and bad spot Ezra had gotten himself into over the past year, he let it go.

Probably had something to do with that damn pop gun of his.

It wasn't that he wasn't proud that the boy was willing to put himself at risk to defend others, he was. Very proud. That, that spirit and heart, that's what he'd seen in the boy in the first place. And if he was going to run with a band of hired guns, Larabee and the others with him, at least from what he'd seen that day, were the sort that wouldn't steer him wrong. But Ezra, well a damn good shot and a possessor of a strategic mind that would have served him well if he'd been old enough for the war, had no real experience in any sort of fights behind fisticuffs and a bar brawl or two. Getting himself out of dangerous situations alive, yes, but that wasn't the same thing.

“And Ah think Mistah Wilmington was quite disappointed to find that fathahs, whethah in towns or Indian villages, have verah comparable thoughts when it comes to that gentleman being in close proximity to their daughtahs.” Ezra had warmed up to his tale now, was enjoying putting on a show, but he was also talking about everyone he'd been riding with rather than himself as much as possible. “There was a lovely young lady, named Miss Rain, and when Buck tried to talk to her, her fathah...”, Ezra trailed off, the smile staying on his face but losing its realness as his eyes shuttered. The bite of mashed potato he took a second later merely a chance to turn his eyes down toward his plate, to get his composure back. Orin supposed he should say that Ezra hadn't had experience in real fighting before this. It did not seem to be true anymore.

“Did something happen to Miss Rain or her father Ezra?” Mary's voice was concerned, her hand moving so it was nearer Ezra's on the table, and whether he took comfort in it, or was simply trying to save face, he straightened, lightly clearing his throat before he spoke, voice somber.

“Miss Rain is perfectly fine, her fathah Tennessee, however, is no longah with us.” Ezra swallowed, clearly upset now, and judging from the way he would look neither of them in the face, let alone the eye, feeling guilty. Hell. Survivor's guilt was pretty damn normal, but it wasn't something he wanted Ezra to be dealing with. “Ah fear that this is too depressing a subject mattah for the dinnah table.”

Knowing that that was the boy's way of saying he wanted to talk about something else, Orin opened his mouth to tell a story about Billy that should amuse them all, but Mary beat him to it, voice overly sympathetic. “If you want to talk about it, don't worry about us. We're here to listen.” She meant well, but she wasn't quite fluent in the language of young men. Nothing would get Ezra to shut-up quicker than sentiment, and that was when he _wanted_ to talk.

“Ah'm fine. When did you make the return journey to this wild cornah of the world? It looks as though you've reopened the newspapah?” Mary looked as though she didn't want to change the subject to her, but she did reluctantly, and Orin knew once she'd warmed to the topic discussing the newspaper and her plans for it could go on for ages. Ezra always had had a knack for turning a conversation the way he wanted it to go, and he'd let it alone for now. When he met with Mr. Larabee to thank him for his back up he could ask him for the details on this fight, figure out exactly what had happened and just what Ezra had seen.

“Well, yes I have. It's so important for people this far out to have a reliable way of getting information, and it can also encourage community building, something badly needed out here. Back when we had a few more people we'd advertise dances and church potlucks, have contests sometimes, but well...” Mary trailed off for a second and then put on what Orin thought of as her 'making do' face, the one that said she was determined to do what needed to be done, however it effected her, good or bad. He both respected that face and disliked it. “Things are a little unsettled out here right now, but I have hope with Orin here, we can start to turn that around. Make Four Corners the town it was really meant to be.”

“I'll do my best, but it's hard to see much hope when you can't even raise a jury for a murder that happened in broad daylight.”

“People are scared,” Mary said it like she was appealing to him, like she thought he didn't already know that, “yes, they're losing hope, but with some changes, with the streets safe, we can help them find it again.”

“It takes a while to make changes like that, and the way things are going you might not have enough people left to make a town soon,” His voice was gentle, but he wasn't going to try and sugarcoat the possibilities, and Mary wouldn't appreciate it if he did.

“I can't give up on this town or the newspaper Orin. On Steven's and my dream. I just can't.” Orin nodded. He knew that. He also knew that if the day came when the town was simply gone, and there was nothing left of that dream neither he or Evie would be letting her fade away with it. Most of the time he didn't think they'd have to worry. Mary was stubborn, but she wasn't more stubborn than she was a survivor. The way her voice had sounded there though, that gave him pause.

“Well, we'll have to see what happens. With what happened to that passel of cowboys that tried to lynch that colored man-”

“Nathan Jackson, he's the town's healer, and one of the men who helped with James.” Orin nodded at the reminder of the name.

“That tried to lynch Mr. Jackson unlawfully, and for no damn reason, you might get a reprieve for a little while as the word spreads. When you have problems with locals, like the James family, that can be a little trickier to settle.”

“Perhaps Mistah Larabee and some of the othah's could help Mistah Dunne in protecting the town until after the trial? Ah would speculate that an unexpected show of force would cause an interlude, if not a cessation, in their schemes, in even a family as vile as the James clearly are.” He listened to Ezra's suggestion, nodded as he heard the merit in it, but he was pretty sure the gleam in the boy's eye did not bode well.

“Not a bad plan at all.” Ezra's shoulders raised just a bit at the praise, pleased, though he tried not to show it. “I was planning to talk with Mr. Larabee either later today or tomorrow, and I'll see what he says.” He fixed his eyes on Ezra, serious, “I want it clear that you will not be one of the 'others' helping him whatever the answer, you hear?”

A face that could have been the dictionary definition of 'affronted' was the response he got to that proclamation, and when Ezra said, “Why, of course not, Uncle, Ah wouldn't dream of it.”, sounding a bit too innocent for his liking, he tightened his expression to make it clear-his nephew was in enough trouble as it was, he did not need to go borrowing more.

“I mean it, you keep your nose clean.”

The, “Yes, sah,” he got back was a little offended, but he could live with that as long as Ezra did as he was told and he turned back to the remains of his meal, satisfied for the moment. He wasn't sure if there was enough of this town left to save it, though he would try, both for Mary's sake, and his poor Steven, who had been taken from them much to young. Try, but not risk what family he had left in the meantime. Stuart James and the casual, smug, way the man had threatened him as he waited for the order he'd put in to be brought out replayed itself in his mind. He doubted the man would have the guts to go after him personally-it really would bring the union army down on his head, and there wasn't much point in chasing off homesteaders if you died before you could use the land you'd extorted them for. So far, from what he understood none of James's men had been rough towards any of the women in town, and he hoped that held out, as it was no secret that Mary was his daughter-in-law.

Ezra, on the other hand, he could see being targeted if anyone in the saloon had been paying attention earlier, and even with the distraction of the murder someone was sure to have been. And in a small town...he shifted his gaze back to his nephew, done with his meal and chewing on an extra biscuit, plate pushed forward. Well, he'd give him plenty of incentive to do as he was told. “If you're done eating, I'd like to talk to you upstairs.” A questioning look, and then a resigned nod at whatever the boy had seen in his face as he looked at him, and Ezra pushed back his chair and headed for the small hallway that led to the front of the newspaper office and the stairs at a fair clip, and with a sigh Orin followed after him.

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

Ezra did his best to appear as though he were not overly worried about their conversation as he stepped lightly onto the stairs in front of his uncle. It was tempting to drag his feet and slow down the proceedings as much as possible, but while he certainly did not go up them as fast as he could, he did not change his pace, even as the idea became increasingly alluring as they grew near the top. To do so would expose his vulnerabilities, as though they were being presented in a showcase, and that would never do.

Part of his dilemma was that he had yet to achieve what he'd hoped to over dinner, finding a valid and technically true reason(Uncle Orin would have a much harder time detecting a falsehood if none had been told) for his departure, that still did not include his actual reason. He knew his Uncle. Knew that the man would not leave well enough alone if he determined that there was a threat that needed taking care of, and so far Ezra had found that staying below the radar had been the best way to avoid the trouble that came with Graham 'the gentleman dancer' Burke.

Gentleman. Hah! That creature didn't even know the meaning of the word.

As incensed and offended as Mothah had been when Ezra began to consort with the more law-abiding side of society, particularly the very judge who had sentenced her, she had still made sure word was gotten to him when she'd heard that Burke had been looking for her. How she had kept her information network intact while she was trapped in a cell Ezra had no idea, but Mother truly had a remarkable array of skills. The man had attempted to use him to manipulate her before, when he'd been about fourteen, and Ezra had frankly been surprised by how easily she had given in to his demands. He had not been truly frightened until he realized, though he doubted anyone else had, even Burke, that Mother had been as well, her body language and manner of speech exposing it to Ezra, if no one else.

Of course, once she had him back with her, and determined that he had not been injured to the point of being unable to travel, they had whisked away in the middle of the night, slipping past Burke's men like they were no more dangerous or observant than a hedgerow. Mother had reminded him later that there were some levels a Standish simply did not stoop to, no matter the circumstances, and doing favors for a man such as that was one of them.

In a rare and precious caress, she had brushed his hair back, pausing with her hand resting on his head, and told him sincerely she would not have a man like that around her son.

He would not bring trouble such as that to the Judge's doorstep.

It had taken him a month to both plan properly for his departure and to find it within himself to actually carry through with it, but in the end, it had been an action felt he had no choice but to take.

Ezra realized suddenly as his body came to an automatic stop that he was in front of the room. He swallowed, hoping the fact that his back was to Uncle Orin would hide it, as he laid his hand on the doorknob, and turned, pushing the door open. Which he was dreading the most, the talk where he would have to come up with some kind of viable explanations for his actions of the past year, or the conclusion to said talk, would have been hard to pinpoint. Ezra realized that he was hovering in the doorway, a discreet glance behind showing that Uncle Orin was waiting more or less patiently for him to go through, and Ezra swallowed as he did so, hoping he had been equally circumspect in that. “Go and sit down on the bed.” More reluctant than he had been and even more determined not to show it, Ezra crossed to the bed and sat gingerly on the edge, well aware that it would likely be the last time he could do so comfortably for awhile.

Uncle Orin had grabbed a small chair that was pushed off into the corner on the right side of the door while Ezra was sitting down and carried it over, setting it down so it faced Ezra and seating himself in it. He looked at his nephew expectantly and Ezra abruptly felt very small and foolish in front of that gaze. What explanation could he possibly give?

He could potentially say that he'd known when she was released in a few months time his Mother would have done everything in her power to persuade Ezra to rejoin her, and while he did not desire to, he knew she would not cease until he had given in. It was a possibility he had worried over more than once, knowing his mother could be ruthless when it came to ensuring her child was on what she thought of as the proper path. The likelihood of her having taken that course of action if he had remained with his Aunt and Uncle was, Ezra would lay odds, credibly a fifty-fifty shot. The other option was that Mother might have made no contact with him at all once free, dropping off the face of the earth as a reprimand for his maintaining associations she disapproved of.

In his scenario, if Mother choose option one, he could see her pursuing two main ways of achieving her goals. Either she would try to integrate herself with the family-which would have been an entirely pointless waste of energy on her part, as after their initial interactions the judge's opinion of his mother was not particularly high-, or to try and separate Ezra from them by a variety of methods, including sabotaging him or setting him up for their displeasure. He would ordinarily say that such techniques would be left as a last resort, as they had been once before, but she had been truly disgusted by his staying with Uncle Orin, and Mother always had been a believer in the ends justifying the means. If neither of those methods worked to her pleasure, and she didn't decide it was too much trouble to persist, things could get ugly fast. He had seen the woman at work, and she did not use her relatives simply as boarding houses for her child, he had seen her use family in her cons, or con family, more than once, and if it got her her way he had no doubt she would not hesitate to do the same to him. He'd already played the pawn and the scapegoat for her more than once.

It hadn't happened, and it would not happen, but the fact that he could see it having occurred very easily if he had stayed was disturbing.

The fact that she was his mother, and there were still times he longed for her company, for all it never lasted long, either his desire or the time before she would foist him on someone else, was something he would not share with anyone. Thoughts such as those were only for him.

He could tell him that he worried he was just a replacement for his dead son. Orin had taken him in no more than four months after Steven Travis had passed, and it did not take a wise man to see the possibility. Even if it had not occurred to him naturally, the citizens of his uncle's town were not shy or retiring people when it came to gossip and the sharing of other people's private business. Ezra had heard that more than once when moving through town, the people assuming he was oblivious, and received the pitying looks to go with it, heard the murmurs that he, a common grifter, could never measure up. That they wondered how long until...

But he would not hurt his Uncle like that, even if it _had_ been the reason for his departure. And it had not.

So it would be Mother he would use. He reminded himself that it was not as though anything he'd be saying was strictly untrue, were all things that had been done in the past nor anything that could actually effect her situation. It felt...improper to speak so of his mother, and he was somewhat discomfited by the fact that he would effectively be implying he was apprehensive of or even intimidated by his mother. He felt many things for Mother, but he had never actually been frightened of her, of displeasing or shaming her, yes, at times, but never of _Mother_. “You're thinking awfully hard there.”

Ezra was surprised as the voice broke into his thoughts, calm, but serious, and then felt ridiculous as he realized how long he'd been sitting there, lost in his memories as though he were the sole occupant of the room. Good lord, he would need to pay attention to those kind of slips, or he'd wind up giving away far more than he meant to. “Ah am afraid that in trying to find words to begin, Ah became lost temporarily in mah mind. Ah apologize.”

“That's fine. I'd reckon that as long as you start at the beginning, the words themselves aren't that important. Why did you think you had to leave?” His uncle's face was patient, but it still felt like his eyes were boring into Ezra's. For a moment he wildly considered telling him the truth in its entirety, but willed down such a ridiculous notion. He'd developed a plan, a direction to pursue, he'd done so for a reason, and he would stick with it.

“Ah received a missive from Mothah about a week before mah departure.” A technical truth, a letter had arrived for him at that time. Orin was listening quietly, but Ezra had seen a flash when he uttered 'mother', the man's anger-at the woman herself for being involved or at Ezra for allowing her to manipulate him, he did not know-jumping onto his face. “Within the midst of flowery language, she made her main goal abundantly clear. She felt mah presence was required for her next business venture and was so confident that Ah would rejoin her, that it even contained instructions to brush up on mah pokah game and to establish contact with one of her partners.” Also not precisely a falsehood, as Ezra had received more than one piece of correspondence from Mother with almost that exact wording.

Truly, she _had_ mentioned his poker game in her last missive, both dismissively assuming he'd allowed his skills to erode and would be unable to hold his own in a game of the class they were used to playing and stating that he would have to remedy that error before he would be of use to her, though there had been no con discussed or even a mention of him rejoining her in any concrete way. It had briefly spurred a desire in him to fleece the locals before he made his exodus, but he had already achieved greater feats of gambling related chastisement than he would ever have imagined by that point, and had not desired to test the waters further. It would have had both Uncle Orin and Aunt Evie watching him closer and made his extraction more difficult, and likely would have meant his ride would have been a most unpleasant one.

As though he'd ever allow his 'god given talents', as Mother insisted on calling them, to slide.

“Ezra,” his uncle's voice was quiet and serious, “you ran away to avoid your mother forcing you into a con? You were in my custody, son. There's no way in hell I would have let her take you anywhere if you wanted to go, let alone let you be dragged away against your will.”

“Mah Mothah is a resourceful woman, with fah more connections and assets in her grasp than eithah of us are fully aware of, Uncle Orin. She is also as persuasive as the Goddess Peitho, when she applies herself fully.” There was a somewhat puzzled look on his uncle's face at that, and Ezra supplied, “A handmaiden to Aphrodite.” His mother had always had an affinity for the mythical figure. If they lived in those times Ezra had no doubt his Mother would have had an alter to her.

Ezra always remembered Peitho's, or Persuasion's, part in getting Pandora to open that box.

“You were worried that she would talk you into it?” Ezra gave a short nod, not wanting to say more, embarrassed by the fact that she very well might have succeeded in such a venture if she had been attempting it, by the way she always seemed to get him to play right into her hands, even though he of all people should know better. Hating the way he was both lying to his Uncle Orin's face and that it seemed the man had no idea. Of course, it was not as though Ezra _wanted_ him to see through his deception, but...

A year truly did change things in an unequivocal way.

“Ezra, even if she had, you were a minor in my custody. I never would have let you go anywhere with her, frankly, not even to dinner unless I were along as well.” Ezra had to clamp down on a surge of frustration, and the thought that Orin could not possibly understand just how easily Maude got her way. She wouldn't simply have thrown her hands up and dismissed the matter because she had been told no. Unless his uncle had held him under house arrest, if Maude had required an opportunity to speak to him she would have had it. Likely the harder it was to get to him, the more determined she would have become. “But I can see from the look on your face that you don't quite believe me.”

Ezra frowned, both because that wasn't quite true and because the man could read his face so well. It wasn't that he didn't believe his uncle, at least he knew that Orin would have done that to the best of his abilities, and if anyone could get the better of Maude it would be Uncle Orin. Yet, he had seen her in action, and Mother was  _very_ good at what she did. “She would not have asked for your permission. She would not have asked for  _mah_ permission. When Mothah has resolved herself to a position, set her eyes on a goal, she will have it one way or the othah. If unable to extract me in othah ways she would have simply ensured Ah was no longah welcome in your household.” Ezra felt a tightness, almost an ache, fill his stomach as memories better left buried piled onto one another in his mind, swallowing hard. 

It would have happened again. He'd known, to the depths of his being, that Mother would not have tolerated him happily living with the judge who had dared to actually sentence her, and to sentence her for a year at that-the judge who in a packed courtroom had told her if the law had allowed for it with her offense it would have been two years, and that she should be ashamed of the influence she had on her son.

Why stay and risk putting both himself and his loved ones in danger-risk putting  _Billy_ in danger-only to become despised and required to leave anyway? When he could leave and avoid both potential catastrophes?

Orin had straightened as he spoke, and his face was set in firm lines as he answered, though Ezra could see worry in his eyes, “That would never happen. There is a room for you in my and Evie's home always, even after you settle into your own.”

Ezra shook his head, willing his dueling emotions not to show on his face or in his voice, “Unc-”

“There is _nothing_ you are capable of doing, and I know you better than you think, Ezra, that would cause me to do that to you. And I'm not such a fool that I'd allow tales told by a woman that I, begging your pardon, wouldn't trust as far as I can throw her, to persuade me otherwise.”

“She's done it befah!” There was a second where Ezra froze, trying to will his thickening accent and stinging eyes to disappear, starting to succeed when Uncle Orin rose and crossed to him, sinking down next to him on the bed and pulling Ezra into the closest you could get to a bear hug while sitting down, and not letting go. Ordinarily Ezra would have been uncomfortable with such an emotional display, but he found himself leaning into it, though he resisted the urge to place his head onto his uncle's shoulder. “She's done it befah. And Mothah did not confine herself to such basics as telling stories.” She'd managed to turn an entire town against him, while staying almost entirely in the background herself. Orin somehow pulled him closer, squeezing reassuringly.

“I promise you, I won't be falling for any of your Momma's spiel, or anything else she pulls.” Ezra shook his head without moving it from where it had wound up, square in the center of Orin's chest, like he was seeking permanent attachment. “No, no, I won't. And neither will your Aunt Evie or Mary. Whoever did the first time is a jackass who didn't deserve you in the first place.” Ezra shook his head even more vehemently, because the Rangel's had been good people, they'd been excellent to him until the end, and he blamed Mothah for that more than them. “Alight, alright, it's okay.” It wasn't until Orin began comforting him that he realized his damp eyes had overflowed, and mortified, he tried to pull away, only to have his Uncle's long arms pull him back again, “It won't happen again Ezra. I told you it was a promise, and I meant it."

 

 

  
  


 

 


	6. Chapter 6

Orin just held Ezra as this new information trickled in, settling fully in his mind. Just when he thought that woman couldn't sink any lower in his estimation he learned something like this. The cruelty involved, the outright fear of his mother's machinations in Ezra's voice was enough to make him feel a little sick. Parents weren't supposed to treat their children like that. Orin knew that they did, that parental rights generally ruled, and people were legally allowed to do things to their children that Orin would never have considered doing to a rat. The rare cases of mistreatment severe enough to come before a judge were generally enough to nauseate him. He would never be used to it, never able to understand it, and the fact that the sort of mistreatment Ezra had undergone was mostly invisible, that that type of cruelty didn't take a physical form, meant Mrs. Standish would never pay for it, not the way she should. Ezra was calming now, but the simple fact that he hadn't pulled out of his arms while he did so told the judge how shaken and upset he was.

She'd let him, or, since Orin knew Maude had spent short stretches of time in jail or on the lam before, been forced to let him, get close to another family, to find security, and then snatched it away from him. Snatched it away and destroyed it. Why? Orin hoped it hadn't been just because she could, because Mrs. Standish didn't like someone else having control of her son, but he wouldn't put it past her, would almost be more surprised if that weren't the reason. It was normal for a parent to want their child with them, and he supposed it was possible that Mrs. Standish had enough of a mothering instinct that she did want the boy with her simply because. Still, she'd let the boy go without the normal things and experiences a child needed to grow-up properly, replaced them with lessons and values so far from the norm that they'd caused harm, taken thing to a point that as far as Orin was concerned she'd lost the rights that came with motherhood.

Ezra had told them once when he'd 'accidentally' overheard a conversation between him and Evie about his mother, furiously angry, that his mother was a businesswoman of class, and with quite a bit more force, that she loved him. That she loved him, however imperfect she was, that she'd come between him and harm more than once, and Ezra _knew_ she loved him. 

Knew a woman who had purposefully turned people he cared for against him loved him. Jesus wept.

Then, she'd scared Ezra into thinking it would happen all over again, that she would take yet another family away from him. That woman didn't deserve him, didn't deserve to be around him at all if she was willing to treat him like that. What sort of person was capable of being that manipulative and malicious to their own son? It was growing up like that had made Ezra think he had to do everything on his own, that had caused this whole mess in the first place.

Unfortunately, that didn't mean he could just let the boy's errors in judgment go. If Ezra had come to him, or Evie, or Mary, anyone of them would have set him straight, made sure he knew they would not allow that woman to manipulate them into believing the worst of him. Just letting others know that his mother might act in such a way would have been a protection from it, would have had them looking out for such things. Instead, Ezra had kept his mouth shut and then disappeared. Not only was that, whether he'd meant for it to be or not, disrespectful of the place they'd given him in their home and family, it also, and far more importantly, meant he'd been alone and at risk. What if his mother had caught up to him on the road? Orin couldn't imagine he'd have had an easier time dealing with her entirely on his own. Coming west certainly wasn't the safest of choices he could have made either, though since it had led to him finding the lad he couldn't complain.

Still, the far more disreputable characters he could have met up with then Larabee and his men-likely _had_ met up with-gave Orin pause. Ezra had been lucky, very lucky, particularly if he'd been starting trouble in saloons.  He wasn't going to punish him for the things he'd needed to do to survive while he was on his own, but the fact that he had put himself in that sort of situation in the first place...Orin could not let that go. The tears had dried up a minute or so ago, and Ezra's breathing was steadying, and so Orin decided it was time to move on, shifting and pulling Ezra slightly away from his chest where his head had wound up burrowing in, though he kept a hand on the side of each shoulder, fingers cupping around the curve, still wanting him close. “Ezra, I'm sorry your mother did that to you, and that she threatened to do it again. You don't deserve to be treated like that. But you should have told me what had happened, son.”

A look of shame passed over Ezra's face, but somehow Orin didn't think it was over not sharing the contents of his letter, “...Ah suppose-”

“No.” Orin said firmly, “There is no supposing about this. You knew very well if you had a serious problem you were supposed to come to either me or Aunt Evie to get help solving it, and you did not. Instead you disappeared in the middle of the night, only leaving a note that didn't tell us anything. You _stayed_ gone for nearly a year, without even a telegram. Nothing about that is acceptable, and you know that, don't you?”

A reluctant, guilty nod, along with a slightly put-upon sounding, “Yes, sah.” Yes, Ezra knew he'd been in the wrong, and probably even knew he deserved a tanning for it. But he wasn't about to admit it unless he had to, and at the moment he didn't technically have to.

“Now, I'm not going to punish you for things like getting yourself into trouble in the saloon, or other things you've done to keep yourself fed, whether I'd approve of them or not.” Ezra tried to hide his surprise at that, and succeeded after a moment, like he thought his not expecting the reprieve might make Orin change his mind. “But if you'd come to me with your worries, you never would have been in any situations like that in the first place. Taking off like that was foolish and dangerous, and I _am_ going to tan your hide for that.”

For once Ezra didn't try and talk him out of it-opened his mouth like he was going to, closed it, then opened it again, before seeming to give up, his words when he did speak more a capitulation than a protest. “Ah know that there is nothing Ah can do to persuade you otherwise, but considering the extenuating circumstances perhaps you could find it in yourself to show some mercy in the form the chastisement takes?” A little relieved to hear such a long and complicated sentence out of his nephew, as it meant the lad was nervous, but not too upset, Orin raised an eyebrow as his brain translated the meaning. Mercy, huh? Hiding a chuckle-he _was_ upset with the choice Ezra had made, and he didn't want him to think otherwise-Orin considered this for a moment, and then realized what Ezra was likely asking.

Not long after he'd come to stay with him and Evie, a week and a half, or two weeks maybe, Ezra had made an escape attempt, sneaking out his window in the early hours of the morning. According to the boy he'd been going to travel to stay with a cousin, but considering he'd only packed a small portion of his already meager, though fine, belongings, and hadn't bothered with trying to hide his tracks, Orin had suspected he was actually trying to see if he'd be thrown back in jail at the first serious transgression. That had been the first time he'd taken the boy over his knee, and if he recalled correctly he'd promised him a taste of his belt if he pulled something like that again. Probably, he should follow through with that, but there  _were_ 'extenuating circumstances', as his nephew had said.

Of course, his staying out of contact for almost an entire year rather overshadowed that. Frankly though, Orin didn't want to, and he didn't think it was necessary either, which was more important than his wants and want-nots. Still, he did want this to stand out compared to other punishments he'd given the boy-this was a sight more serious than when he'd won the boots off the banker's boy-and his hand might not make enough of an impact. “I'm not going to take my belt to you if that's what you're asking.” The sigh of relief was palpable, but Orin ignored it. “I have a sturdy pair of slippers in my suitcase that's sitting over by the wall, they should be on top when it's opened. Go and fetch one for me.” The relief was replaced by a hiss of dismay, but Orin just looked steadily back at Ezra as he dropped his hands from the boy's shoulders.

“Uncle...”

“I could always change my mind.” With a deep breath and a slight pout that didn't do a thing to sway him, Ezra pushed himself to his feet and stepped away from the bed. He took a step forward and then paused, throwing aside pride to send another pleading look at Orin who just shook his head. A scowl replacing the pleading look, he turned back in the direction of the suitcase and reluctantly and slowly finished the journey, touching the suitcase like it was tainted with some plague or booby-trapped as he opened it. Still, he retrieved the slipper and carried it back across the room to Orin, all the while holding it away from his body like it might bite him. Orin took it with a murmur of thanks and set it farther down the bed, where Ezra would be able to look at it while he was being punished. Then seeing no point in wasting further time he drew Ezra around to stand by his knee, looking at him seriously. “You know why you're being punished, and I know that you understand you were wrong. What are you going to do if you need help dealing with your mother in the future?”

“Uncle...”

“It's not a difficult question.”

“Do yah want me to lie?” It was both snapped and plaintive and Orin glared for a moment, before shaking his head.

“No, Ezra, I do _not_ want you to lie. I want you to say you will _and_ actually do the sensible thing and ask for help if you need it.” They stared at each other for a long time, a silent battle of wills, and in time, possibly because he had never considered another outcome, Orin waited out Ezra who dropped his gaze to his shoes in defeat. “What are you going to do if you need help dealing with your mother or another serious problem?”

“Ask for assistance.”

“Good.” Satisfied, even if the answer had been muttered in a slightly rebellious tone, Orin nodded, before going back to business, “That's all I needed to hear. Unfasten your trousers so I can pull them down once you're over my knee.”

Judging from the gaping expression on Ezra's reddening face you'd think it was the first time someone had said that to him, but as it was around the third time just for Orin, it wasn't a new concept, “But Uncle Orin, Ah'm eighteen and clearly-”

“Clever enough to do as you're told when you're already in a heap of trouble? Now, Ezra Patrick.” Why Ezra had thought eighteen too old for him to get a tanning on his underthings, if it wasn't too old entirely Orin didn't know, and at this point was starting to think the boy was just stalling. With a final glare, Ezra unbuttoned the fastenings on his pants, and then to Orin's surprise all but threw himself over his lap, the judge having to move one of his arms so he didn't land on it. Well, he supposed once he'd determined he really couldn't get out of it he wanted it over quick. Adjusting him a little, Orin wrapped an arm around his waist to keep him in place, and raised his hand, preparing to bring it down with a snap. 

 


	7. Chapter 7

Ezra shifted to the side, trying to move his backside out of the range of his uncle's palm as it came down on the seat of his trousers for the fifteenth time, but only succeeded in having it land partly on the outer curve of his buttocks, where the skin was a bit thinner and it stung more. He'd been taking painstaking care to keep track of the number of smacks being applied, in the futile hope it would somehow distract him from the pain, but instead it felt as though his punishment were somehow being drawn out. It did however help keep his mind off the fact Uncle Orin had not yet moved to draw down his trousers, and as much as Ezra dreaded and would prevent such an action from occurring at all if he could, as he knew there was no way to prevent the occurrence, he would rather have it over with.

Or at least that was what he thought until at that moment he felt Orin lifting him a bit, his hand moving to his waistband and his trousers actually beginning to be lowered down, and, his voice pitched higher than he appreciated, Ezra began trying to negotiate with him, even though they were now already most of the way down. “Uncle, let's be reasonable, is it really proper for-” He had to cut himself off to stop from letting out an embarrassing yelp as Uncle Orin, done with his pants, went right back to swatting him, faster than he had been, and lower too. Part of him knew he should be obliged that his uncle wasn't giving him the belt licking he'd feared he had coming, but at this singularity in time all that mattered what that the chastisement he was receiving _now_ hurt. 

The fact that he was less conflicted on whether his conduct was truly deserving of such punishment than he had been previously, that he was now being forced to acknowledge that he should perhaps have discussed the reality of the situation with his uncle before he left...that he should certainly have done so when he'd been given the opportunity at this time...

He had not. Ezra could not bring himself to actually reverse his decision, to do as a small, disquieted part of him knew he should, but that did not prevent the guilt from his deception being felt, nor the guilt from having disappeared on the Travises in the first place.

The punishment stopped abruptly, right when Ezra was growing truly wretched over the possibility he would give into tears. “You scared your aunt and me, more than I can say, disappearing the way you did. We didn't know what might be happening to you, worried over you being injured or sick with no one to look after you. We've already lost one boy. Don't know what we'd do if we lost another.” At that, Ezra lost the battle against the hot tears that had been welling up behind his eyes, could feel them dripping down his cheeks. His uncle seemed to realize, though Ezra would swear he'd made no sound, his hand patting at Ezra's back for a minute, before it withdrew. “Hand me that slipper, please.” Orin's voice brooked no argument, and for once, Ezra was too guilty, too tired, to offer an argument anyway, his hand reaching forward to clasp it and pushing it back towards Orin who took it from him with a brief clasp of his hand. It would have been easier if he had been harsher, if he would have given Ezra a reason to feel angry or resentful, but he didn't. “Six, and we're done.”

Ezra gritted his teeth, resisting the urge to either try and stand up or tell Uncle Orin to get on with it, as he did not think either action would go over particularly well. He was grateful he had when the first slap of the slipper, which burned through his undergarments with a sting his uncle's hand couldn't hope to have matched, landed, as he had no doubt an extremely undignified yelp would have left him otherwise. Five more times it fell, going from the crest of his backside to nearly the tops of his thighs, leaving a burn that seemed to radiate inwards, and by the end whether the noises he was making were dignified or not was the last thing on his mind. The slipper was dropped on the floor, tossed a little away so he could hear it land, and Uncle Orin was rubbing his back between his shoulder blades, and slowly, with several deep breaths, Ezra started to bring himself back under control. “Alright, it's alright now. Over, done with and forgiven...you're alright.”

Ezra pushed himself up and away, reaching into his vest pocket for a handkerchief, tugging just a bit when it didn't seem to want to come loose and quickly wiping his eyes and nose, a bit disgusted that the latter needed it. Done, he took his time folding the handkerchief so the soiled area was facing in and tucked it back in his pocket, Uncle Orin on his feet now behind him, but giving Ezra his space. “I was thinking I'd go down and sit in the parlor, do a little reading before bedtime. Want to join me?”

Nodding slightly, Ezra said quietly, “It has been a while since Ah whiled away an evening in scholarship.”

“Good.” His uncle sounded satisfied, his hand settling on his shoulder for just a moment, “C'mon.”

 

*.*.*.*.*

 

“Buck, I don't know if we should be spreading Ezra's private business.” JD said, a little nervously as he followed Buck across the street to the clinic. He'd done his best to distract the ladies man, much to Buck's amusement, wanting a drink that they toasted to those who died in the attack on the village, well, except for those 'ghosts of the confederacy' bastards, to eat saloon food that wasn't worth half what you paid for it, and to talk to a couple pretty ladies-well, Buck had done most of the talking, but JD had had a silly smile by the end anyway. That was over and done with though, and now he had news to share.

“Not like I'm telling strangers, but I think the boys deserve to know.” Buck said, shaking his head, “I reckon it explains a helluva lot, and anyway, the look on Ezra's face when the judge was talking in his ear is too priceless not to share.” He started up the clinic stairs, mussing to himself that it did explain a hell of a lot, and he didn't understand how none of them had realized Ezra was just a kid, or at least not much more than that.

“C'mon, Buck! You wouldn't like it if he told a secret you had.” Casting a look over his shoulder at JD, Buck was surprised that the kid-and at least this one had admitted to it-wasn't even more eager to share the news than he was. He raised an eyebrow at him.

“What are you gonna do, Sheriff, arrest me?”

JD glared at him, then blew an overlong tuft of hair away from where it had fallen into his eyes, “Don't tempt me.” Buck barked out a laugh, went to knock JD's hat off his head, and pulled his arm up short at the last minute. He wasn't waiting here while the boy went down a flight of stairs to get the ugly thing, Buck thought, turning to march the rest of the way up, knowing JD would follow him even if he did argue the whole time.

Strolling across the porch and rapping once on the clinic door, Buck went in with a grin. “Hey boys! You're never gonna guess what just happened in the saloon.” Nathan and Josiah were sitting across from each other, Josiah on the bed and Nathan in a rickety looking chair with a checkers game in full swing inbetween them. JD came in behind him, making a show of his disapproval by huffing and crossing his arms.

“Well, if you say we never will, you might as well just tell us brother.”

Coming over to stand by the end of the bed, Buck pulled his hat off and, happy as always to have a story to tell, and a good one, said, “You'll never guess whose nephew Ezra is,” his tone promising it was quite a tale.

A small smirk on his face that said he wasn't taking Buck or whatever story he thought Ezra had fed him very seriously, Nathan dryly guessed, “Jesse James?”

Rolling his eyes at the healer, and dismissing that with a wave of his hat, Buck said, “Haha, very funny. The circuit court judge we helped, Travis, that's his uncle.”

“Well, that's about the last thing I expected to hear.” Josiah muttered, hand letting go of the checker he'd been about to move.

Nathan snorted, “I'll say. He don't act much like I'd expect a judge's nephew to act.”

“Families are mighty complicated things, brother.” Josiah said, straightening a little and biting down on a groan when his injured leg shifted on the bed, waving Nathan's concern off when he eyed him. “I'm fine as long as infection doesn't set in, you said so yourself, and you just cleaned it.” Turning his attention back to Buck, he asked, “Now, what exactly happened in the saloon?”

“JD was there before me,” Buck said, and, his earlier exasperation rising to the surface, he shook his head, “taking the job as sheriff for this dust bowl of a town-”

“Hold on a minute-a job as what?” Scowling at Nathan's surprise, JD piped up in defense of himself before anybody else could say anything, though the doubtful expression on Josiah's face was about what Buck had expected.

“Sheriff! They need one, and there wasn't anyone else volunteering, and anyway,” JD's shoulders squared as he straightened his already perfectly straight gunbelt, chin raised, “I bet I'll do a better job than any of them other fellas that were sitting around the saloon. Bring some justice here.” Buck rolled his eyes at the overconfidence in the boy's tone, like he really thought he could do it all by his lonesome with just a pair of six-guns. Couldn't fault his guts or his heart, he mussed a little grudgingly, except for the fact they'd probably get him killed.

“Alright, alright,” Nathan said, with an appeasing tone to his voice and rolled eyes Buck smirked at, “Some of the folks hang out in that saloon you're probably right.” JD beamed as both Buck and Josiah coughed into their fists. That one had flown right over the kid's head.

“Anyway,” Buck said to the room at large, “Like I said I wasn't there for the beginning, and the new sheriff here ain't wanting to tell tales-”

“'Cause telling tales is for little kids.” JD said, his tone making it clear that they should already know that, and Buck took the time to pull his hat brim down over his eyes before he continued, grinning a little at JD's squawk. He was starting to wonder if maybe JD had already known Ezra was about his age, or something like that, and that was why he didn't want it talked about.

“Anyway, by the time I walked in the Judge was letting the little runaway know he'd worried the hell out of him and he wasn't any too pleased. Ezra was trying to act smooth as anything, but he wasn't doing a very good job of it.”

“Little runaway?” Josiah asked, voice a mixture of thoughtfulness and skepticism. “I would've thought he was a few years beyond that title.”

“Mmm-hmm, well, I don't know know for sure, but if the judge was whispering what I think he was in Ezra's ear-I caught a word or two-, well, I reckon it ain't often a 26 year old gets told he's getting taken to the woodshed if he don't do as he's told. Course, if he got the judge mad enough, who knows, but I'm pretty sure ol' Ezra ain't as old a he says he is.”

“So, he lied to us,” Nathan said, mouth turning down and head shaking.

“Well, he had to didn't he?” JD said, voice surprisingly defensive as he spoke, “Otherwise you wouldn't have wanted him riding with you, just like you didn't want me at first. I think we did ok-” JD cut himself off mid-word, flushing, as though he'd just remembered what role Ezra had played before he'd been the hero. Buck hadn't been any too impressed with that, still wasn't, though he figured it had taken at least as much courage to come back as it had taken cowardice to leave in the first place. It had surprised him when Chris had given Ezra a second chance, hadn't just told him to get going while the going was good, but as hard as Chris could be he always had had a talent at seeing what was inside a man. He was good enough at it that Buck had supposed he should maybe take a second look too.

“No one is saying otherwise, son.” Josiah's voice had taken on a fatherly tone as he talked, one that JD _didn't_ roll his eyes or huff at Buck noticed. “But decisions might have been made differently if we'd known, and things may not have gone like they did. In battle a leader needs to know his men's strengths and weaknesses and how to use them.”

Looking like he wasn't sure if Josiah had called him weak or not, JD's face had screwed up with thought, when Buck, deciding he'd rather know than wonder, said, “JD, did Ezra tell you how old he was?”

JD shook his head, Buck pretty sure from the expression on his face that he'd had at least an idea before the kid ever said anything. “No, Buck, I swear, he didn't say a word...but, while...he doesn't _look_ that much older than me, not really.” Rueful looks were exchanged between the three older men in the room, because if it had been that obvious to JD, they should've seen it. 

“That smooth tongue of his kept any of us from even wondering,” Nathan said, tone a little disapproving, “makes you wonder if you can believe anything he says.”

“While,” Josiah said, “it's not like the boy made any secret out of being a grifter. Told me our first night camping on the way to the village that he used to spread the word for profit. Can't say it was something I liked to hear...but,” He cocked his head, thoughtfully, “at least it was the truth. That's something.”

 

 


End file.
